


For We May Dance Again

by theangryuniverse



Series: The Senator and His Concubine [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha Victor Nikiforov, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece & Rome, Alternate Universe - Historical, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Omega Katsuki Yuuri, Romance, Romanesque, Slavery, Smut, intersex omega
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:01:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23985745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theangryuniverse/pseuds/theangryuniverse
Summary: Yuuri comes into the senator’s house with nothing but the clothes on his back and with blisters on his feet.He owns no shoes, and therefore walks barefoot like the majority of slaves. He can feel the dust and the dirt crawl up between his toes, the small stones digging into his flesh, but he has already become oblivious to the pain. Only when he focuses on it, he feels it, but he tries not to. In his situation, one has to choose carefully which sensations to allow, and which ones to lock away, and pain is never a good choice if one wishes to survive.But he forgets it all, forgets about the pain, when he dances.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Series: The Senator and His Concubine [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1698856
Comments: 51
Kudos: 375





	For We May Dance Again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EmHunter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmHunter/gifts).



> Hello everyone!  
> I said there would be more to this universe, and here it is! It took me very long to finish this, and believe me, writing it was a struggle all of a sudden. But I'm very happy with how it turned out, although I'm not so happy about the title. Finding titles is hard.

**To See Him Dance Again**

* * *

Yuuri comes into the senator’s house with nothing but the clothes on his back and with blisters on his feet.

He owns no shoes, and therefore walks barefoot like the majority of slaves. He can feel the dust and the dirt crawl up between his toes, the small stones digging into his flesh, but he has already become oblivious to the pain. Only when he focuses on it, he feels it, but he tries not to. In his situation, one has to choose carefully which sensations to allow, and which ones to lock away, and pain is never a good choice if one wishes to survive.

But he forgets it all, forgets about the pain, when he dances.

None of this is clear to the senator himself, who sits on the best chair in the house, and drinks the finest wine from a cup that looks as if it were made out of pure gold. It is a magnificent evening of food and entertainment to which the senator has invited – and naturally, all those who think themselves to be important and influential have followed the call. And so, the palace of the Nikiforov residence is brightly lit, and conversations are light and mostly meaningless.

One saves the important talks for the day, anyway.

Of course, it has not always been this way. As a much younger man than he is now, Victor Nikiforov has been just one of many – a young politician aspiring to be more than just a faceless being in Petersburg. A name is one thing, but to be noticed something entirely different. One needs to be clever, witty, clear-headed, preferably an alpha, and above everything else, fast, if one wishes to climb the ladder and become a member of the Twelve that constitute the senate. A name is not enough.

But he has proven to be clever, witty, clear-headed, an alpha, and fast. And so, he has gained his place amongst the Twelve, and can now call himself a Senator.

Naturally, people want to befriend him.

Victor, however, has always been rather selective when it comes to friends. There is his childhood friend Mila, now married to Senator Babichev. There is Christophe, a fellow alpha who has never shown great interest in politics but now is an advisor – sadly, he cannot become a senator because he is a foreigner, but there is no one whom Victor trusts more than him. His friend now sits beside him, laughing at the joke someone has just told. Chris is always good company, Victor thinks, and lets his gaze wander further. There is Georgi, his loyal, but incredibly emotional cousin, once more sulking in a corner because of a dispute with his lover. Victor cannot tell what it must be like to love another person so that an argument could upset him so much.

He looks up, his eyes moving to the woman sitting on the other side of the room, surrounded by other ladies in fine clothing. His wife Evgenia is a sight to behold – she always is, sitting on her chair like on a throne, holding her head high and her opinion of her status as an alpha even higher. The jewels she wears are heirlooms of her family, given to Victor upon their marriage. He returned them to her, of course, finding it improper to call jewels his own that had once ornamented the neck of his wife’s late mother. Tonight, she wears them as well, the jewels sparkling in the light of the torches and candles whenever she moves.

Victor does not love her.

Chris’ hand lands firmly on his shoulder, and pulls him out of his thoughts. “My dear friend,” he says, “you look lost. That is not a good look for someone who should be celebrating! One does not win the election three times in a row so easily!”

Victor smiles at his friend. “I was merely lost in my thoughts for a moment,” he says. “Nothing more.”

“No thoughts tonight!” Chris declares and shakes his head. “No, tonight is not about thinking. Tonight is only about celebrating! And I must say, my friend, your festivities are always superb. I am quite jealous, you know? For every single time you invite half of Petersburg, half of Petersburg actually comes! But to me, a foreign devil?” Chris sighs dramatically.

“Oh, don’t say such things,” Victor laughs and pats his friend’s back. “I believe it is more about your, ah, antics when you are drunk that make people a little wary.”

“Antics? Me?” Chris raises an eyebrow. “Ah, you Petersburg people simply don’t know how to live! That’s what I say. But at least you have the finest wine here. But there is no dance! Victor, didn’t you say there would be dancers?”

“It’s been organised by Georgi,” Victor replies. “I am sure he will deliver. He said he managed to get us a famous dance company for tonight. I am most intrigued.”

“So am I,” Chris says, taking a sip from his wine. “Dancers are most enchanting.”

“You will not desecrate my house with a dancer, Chris.”

“Me? I am the most innocent person one could have the misfortune to know!”

Victor laughs heartily at that, and his friend refills his wine, just as there is commotion by the archway leading into the banquet room. A man, dressed in clothing far too good for him, enters with great steps and nods at the musicians, who immediately stop playing. Victor and Chris sit up properly, just as the man begins to speak.

“Most noble lords and ladies!” He calls, his voice loud and booming. “I present to you a gift that not many in this world ever get to see! An escape from reality into the realm of wishes and dreams! Yes, all the world lusts for a sight like this! Dances from a world beyond!”

Victor has never been too fond of dancers for entertainment, but it is bon ton to have them whenever one celebrates. His guests are delighted at the prospect of a performance, especially the men. 

“But take heed, most noble lords and ladies,” the man says and leans forward, as if to let them in on a well-kept secret, “what you are about to see is one of the many mysteries of the eastern provinces! Not even a senator can claim to have ever seen such excellence and beauty!”

“Now we’re talking,” Chris chuckles beside Victor and nudges him with his elbow.

“I present to you for your entertainment and pleasure a most exotic creature, stolen in a faraway land!” The man exclaims and steps back with grand gesture, and the room falls silent.

A small figure steps out from between the curtains. A young man, Victor realises as he leans forward like everyone else, clad in sheer clothing that leaves nothing to imagination. His hair is as dark as the night, and his face his hidden behind a sheer veil, leaving only his eyes visible. Eyes of a dark brown, in them willpower and passion that one seldom finds in a slave.

For that is what he is, Victor realises at the sight of the tight bracelet around the young man’s neck.

A slave, unfree, existing solely for the entertainment of others.

The dancer comes to stand in the centre of the banquet room, just where his owner stood merely moments ago, and lifts his arms above his head. Just then, his eyes lock with Victor’s for only a second, and the senator’s heart skips a beat as the musicians begin to play, and the dance begins.

For how long he dances, Victor cannot tell. But it seems as if no one dares to draw a breath or make a move for as long as the dancer is with them, as if any disturbance of this holy ritual might bring the wrath of the gods upon them. With every step he takes the dancer lures them further into his trap, but oh, Victor would go into it most willingly if it meant to see more of him, to be in his magic for longer. But this path, Victor feels it, this path is a dangerous one – and if he goes down that road, he won’t be able to return. Not that he would want that.

The dancer spins and twirls as the music becomes faster, his feet moving so fast that Victor cannot keep up. His hands come above his head, and the dancer arches his back, bending backwards as if it were nothing, only to stand on his hands for a second – the crowd applauds in sheer excitement, just as the dancer drops to his feet again, a hand running up his chest and along his arm, as if to invite the audience to come and touch him. And then, he falls, elegantly, legs in a perfect split, and breaks the illusion as he bows his head.

All of a sudden, they are back in the real world, and Victor realises only then that he is gripping the edge of his seat.

The music ends, and the audience erupts into deafening applause. The dancer rises from the floor and bows, his bow so accomplished and modest at the same time, as if the people were not calling for more, as if the applause were nothing at all to him.

“From the Eastern provinces, most honourable lords and ladies!” His owner booms and bows several times. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

“By the gods,” Chris says beside Victor. “Is it just me, or is it suddenly rather hot in here, my friend?”

“What an accomplished dancer!” A woman near them breathes and turns her head to look at Victor. “Truly, senator, you have outdone yourself with tonight’s entertainment!”

“Indeed!” Chris says and raises his cup. “To wonderful entertainment, and to the re-election of Petersburg’s most popular senator!”

The people raise their drinks for celebration, and Victor modestly bows his head. Truly, it is actually Georgi they have to thank for the choice of entertainment, and Victor makes a mental note to thank his cousin later that night.

Indeed. What a successful evening.

It is bon ton to invite entertainers for a drink or two at such festivities, and have them stay the night. And so, he is not surprised to see the owner of the dancer mingle with the other guests for a while. Victor is not a friend of people of his trade, and therefore leaves giving compliments to Evgenia whilst he makes rounds to speak with the rest of his guests. As the night continues, Victor finds his cup refilled many more times by Chris, who seems determined to get him drunk – so much that Victor has to escape for a while, and he steps out into the hallway for a moment, away from the crowds, to clear his head.

Victor feels like a stranger in his own home sometimes, even more so now, with the hallways abandoned and the sounds of laughter, music, and spirited conversation in the background. Any other night, he would have congratulated himself for yet another successful evening. But on his mind is only a dancer, and a pair of eyes that have met his own.

He steps out onto a balcony and breathes in the cool air of the night, hoping it will soothe his racing mind and his rapidly beating heart. It is a successful evening indeed, Victor thinks as he hears his guests cheer in the banquet room. It is the highlight of a stressful month, days and nights spent away from home and in the senate instead, fighting for what Victor believes is right. It was not clear that he would win from the very beginning – no, Victor has never been one of those candidates.

But Victor cannot deny that his views, that are so very unusual compared to those of the others in the senate, have helped him in his triumph.

Especially the poorer citizens of Petersburg like the fact that he does not own any slaves – that all of his servants are free, and make a decent living.

The poor, and those that used to be unfree have brought him to where he is now, and Victor would be a fool to ever forget that.

He sighs and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. From now on, he is sure, he can only go forward.

The sound of terrified shrieking interrupts his thoughts, and Victor immediately opens his eyes, turning his head into the direction of the noise. His guests are still laughing and chatting away, not hearing a single thing, Victor realises as he begins to walk down the balcony that surrounds this floor in search for the origin of the cries that seem to become louder with every step he takes. He skips a few steps on the stairs as he listens, trying to block out the noise from the banquet hall, locating the source of the cries further down by the servant quarters.

Just as he is about to enter the backstairs, a servant runs into him, eyes wide. “Master! He’s gone mad! We’ve tried to pull him off him but—”

Victor’s eyes widen, and he pushes the servant out of the way, running down the backstairs to the courtyard by the kitchens. Most of his servants are there, all of them standing back with their eyes wide in terror as they watch the scene unfold, and Victor knows that he has arrived just in time to prevent the worst.

There, just by the stairs, crouches a small figure, arms above their head for protection as a whip comes down onto them again and again, wielded by the hand of none other than the man Victor has shared food and wine with in exchange for excellent entertainment.

Victor reacts out of sheer instinct.

He grabs the man’s wrist and holds him back just before he can whip the slave again and pushes him back with all his strength. The man stumbles and falls onto his back with an outraged scream, but Victor has no eyes for him. He falls to his knees and grabs the crouching figure by the shoulders, pulling them into a sitting position on the cold floor, and looks into a pair of big, brown eyes.

The veil has hidden a rare beauty, Victor realises as he looks at the dancer, a beauty so extraordinary that Victor suddenly feels the urge to hide him away himself. The dancer’s brown eyes are wide in both fear and surprise as they meet Victor’s, his arms still halfway over his head for protection. His wrists and ankles are so delicate that there is no doubt that before him kneels a male omega – rare, heavily sought-after, and in the terms of slave market prices most likely worth a fortune. But his ankle is swollen, turning darker at an alarming rate, and most likely causing him massive pain.

“How dare you!” The omega’s owner shouts as he gets onto his feet again. “It is my right to discipline my slave!”

Victor struggles to withdraw his gaze from the dancer, but rises and turns around, making sure he is shielding the terrified omega from the other man’s view.

“You forget where you are, good man,” he says coldly. “This is Petersburg. And this is my house. And I forbid you to discipline your slave, or anyone else!” His gaze flickers to his own servants who watch them with fear in their eyes, none of them used to such brutality. No, Victor has never physically disciplined a single servant of his.

The omega’s owner glares at him. “I have heard of you, senator!” He snaps. “Friend of slaves and omegas. But the law is on my side, and you know it! You are keeping me from what is rightfully mine!”

The man is right, and Victor knows it, and never has pained him the law more than it does now. Whilst he can tell him to not beat up his slave on his land, he cannot keep him from taking what is his rightful property.

Behind him, the omega whimpers, and Victor cannot help to turn around to him once more. The omega has tried to sit up, Victor realises, but has moved his injured foot in order to do so. Victor can only imagine how terrible the pain must be for him. He sinks to his knees before the slave and helps him sit on the last step of the stairs, mindful of the injured ankle of which Victor hopes that it is not broken.

“I’ll just take a look at your ankle, yes?” Victor says as he reaches for the omega’s foot, careful not to touch it more than merely a brush of his fingertips as the omega holds his breath and looks at him in both fear and awe.

He must not be used to kindness, Victor realises sadly.

“Did you have to dance with your foot like this?” He asks him quietly, already knowing the answer.

The slave swallows thickly and nods.

Victor closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in order to stay calm.

When he is able to open them again without having to fear losing his temper, he asks: “Do you wish to get away from this man?”

His voice is quiet, barely loud enough for the omega to hear. But the words are spoken before Victor even realises what he is doing, but he knows that he cannot sit back and watch the slave being beaten further, not as long as he has the means to prevent it.

The dancer stares at him, his eyes wide in shock as realisation dawns in them. His eyes flicker over Victor’s shoulder at his master who is still shouting at them, and back at Victor, who still looks at him with never-ending patience.

And then, the omega gives a tiny nod.

Victor gets back to his feet and turns around, looking at one of his servants. “Bring me the purse from my study.”

“Yes, Master,” the servant replies and immediately runs upstairs while the rest of the servants start whispering amongst themselves in realisation of what is about to happen.

The omega’s owner steps forward, but Victor does not let him come closer to the omega.

“Since you insist on the law,” he says coldly, “we shall do this properly. An appropriate sum of money in exchange for the slave.”

The man stares at him for a moment before he begins to laugh. “Do you think I am mad to give up a male omega?” He asks, just as the servant returns in record speed, dropping a purse into Victor’s open palm. “Do you know what his virginity’s worth alone?”

“I can imagine,” Victor says dryly and opens the purse, briefly checking its contents. “And yet, I am sure you will be satisfied with what I have to offer.”

“I doubt it,” the omega’s owner huffs, but Victor notices that he is already eyeing the purse.

“Doubt no more,” Victor says and holds out the entire purse. “Here.”

The man frowns at the sudden offer, and for a moment, Victor believes that he will refuse to take it. But then, the purse is snatched from his hand and the omega’s owner goes through it, his eyes widening more and more at the sheer abundance of golden coins.

“Those are—”

“Indeed,” Victor says calmly. “The gold in exchange for the omega. Do we have a deal?”

It is interesting what the right sum of money can do to people – Victor is once more reminded of that when he sees the man’s eyes change their light, from anger to greed. Their dispute is forgotten, it seems, the very moment the purse has touched the man’s palm. He looks up at Victor, glancing once more at the omega behind the senator before he nods.

“Good luck with that one,” he says and stuffs the purse into his robe. “Stubborn and renitent, that’s what he is.”

“And none of your concern anymore,” Victor says. “Now get off my land before I forget myself.”

One of his servants steps forward to lead the man to the back gates. The back of his head is the last that Victor sees of the man before he turns around again and forgets about him.

To his feet, at the bottom of the stairs, sits the omega he has just bought. The boy is looking up at him in both utter confusion and awe, as if he could not quite believe that he does not have to follow his old master. His fingers are gripping the edge of the step he sits on, and Victor realises that he is scared but trying to not let it show.

“Cao Bin,” Victor says as he kneels down beside the omega. The boy shrieks as Victor lifts him up and into his arms to carry him, but Victor only glances over his shoulder at his servant. “Fetch the doctor. Bring him to the rooms above the rose garden. And someone bring up a bucket with cold water and a cloth.”

“Yes, Sir,” the servant named Cao Bin replies, but Victor is not waiting for his answer, already climbing up the stairs again with the omega in his arms.

He looks down at him, finding that the young man stares at him in shock and awe, stunned into silence at such treatment. The sight alone is breaking Victor’s heart upon the realisation that the omega has most likely received very little kindness in his life, and he does not even want to imagine how an omega like him must be treated by alphas.

They reach the entrance hall, and the omega grips his arm as the sounds of music and laughter reach them from the banquet room – Victor has almost forgotten about the feast, and only then remembers that he should actually be there. But the omega looks at him, and Victor pushes the thought aside as the sees the fearful expression on the boy’s face, and immediately heads the other way with him, to the stairs that lead to the rooms above the rose garden.

It is there where Victor carefully puts him down on a chaise longue, in a room usually reserved for guests because of its lovely view. But for now, it shall be the omega’s place of refuge, away from the crowd and from prying eyes. Victor sits down on the other end of the chaise longue, careful to leave a distance between himself and the dancer in order to not scare him any further – for the omega looks at him like a deer running away from the hunter, and Victor truly cannot blame him for it.

A servant comes in with the bucket of cold water that Victor has sent for, leaving it beside the chaise longue before hurrying out again. Victor picks up the clean cloth hanging over the edge of the bucket, soaking it in the cold water for a moment before turning to face the omega again.

“May I?” He asks, gesturing at the omega’s swollen foot.

The omega stares at him in shock and disbelief, as if fighting against the urge to back away and crawl into the furthest corner of the chaise longue. But Victor waits, patiently, until the omega gives the tiniest of nods before he carefully lifts his foot onto his lap and wraps the cold cloth around the dancer’s swollen ankle. Immediately, the omega hisses and squeezes his eyes shut as the cold cloth comes into contact with his skin.

“Forgive me,” Victor murmurs, and he can only imagine how much it must hurt. Nonetheless, he hopes that cooling the dancer’s ankle will at least somewhat lessen the pain. “I’m very sorry that you had to dance whilst being injured. I would not have allowed it if I had known.”

The omega says nothing, his hands gripping the edges of the chaise longue as Victor takes care of his foot as best as he can. Victor is by no means a medical man, having studied the law extensively, as well as philosophy and rhetoric, of course. But there are a few things he knows, and that includes taking care of injuries.

He can only hope that the damage done to the dancer’s foot is not too big.

“Would you mind telling me your name?” Victor asks in an attempt of distracting the omega from the pain as he dips the cloth into the cold water again.

The omega frowns, taken aback, as if this question were the last thing he has expected. Only then Victor realises that many slaves do not even have names, that indeed, in some parts of the realm slaves have to remain nameless on purpose to remind them of their status, that they are not deserving of one. What if the dancer is no exception to this, and does not even have a name to give Victor? “You don’t have to—”

“Yuuri.”

The omega’s voice is so quiet that Victor almost does not hear him. He pauses, his hand resting carefully on the omega’s ankle.

“Yuuri,” Victor repeats softly. “That is your name?”

The omega looks down at his lap, avoiding to meet Victor’s gaze. But he nods, barely so.

“That is a lovely name, Yuuri,” Victor says, just as footsteps come closer, revealing to be those of Cao Bin and the doctor he has fetched. Immediately, Victor puts Yuuri’s foot down on a cushion and moves to stand.

“Most honourable senator,” the doctor says as Victor rises to greet him. “I came as fast as I could. Your servant here told me there might be an ankle to be examined.”

“Indeed. Thank you so much for coming right away,” Victor says after quickly shaking the other man’s hand. “This young man here was dancing for my guests tonight. Sadly, his owner was not taking care of him accordingly, as you can see.”

“Oh dear,” the doctor sighs as he sits down on the chaise longue, just where Victor has sat moments ago. “Did you twist your ankle while dancing, my boy?”

“I fear he had to dance with his ankle already injured,” Victor tells the doctor as the man carefully lifts the omega’s foot onto his lap for closer inspection. Yuuri winces but remains silent as his ankle is being examined. Only as the doctor begins to carefully move it the omega whines in pain, and the other man immediately stops.

“I do not think it’s broken,” the doctor says thoughtfully as his fingers press into the swollen flesh of Yuuri’s ankle. “But heavily sprained. It must have been like this for a few days, I assume. When did you twist your ankle, boy? Do you remember?”

Yuuri bites his lower lip. “I fell down the stairs,” he whispers. “When we came to Petersburg. A few days ago.”

“That explains the bruises here,” the doctor says, gesturing at the dark bruises on the omega’s lower thigh. “And your master made you walk and dance regardless?”

Once more, Victor feels the anger rise inside him as the young man nods. But at least there is the satisfaction that the man won’t be able to hurt him anymore.

“You may not know, my dear boy,” the doctor says as he reaches into his bag and pulls out a few small jars filled with ointment, “but here in Petersburg, we don’t mistreat our servants, may they be slaves or not. You have a good master here now.”

Victor averts his gaze, not wanting to be called the master of a slave – but in truth, that is what he is now, by law, since he has bought Yuuri from his old owner by an exchange of money.

The doctor carefully applies the ointment to the omega’s swollen ankle before he bandages it properly, restraining the ability to move it for the sake of the healing process. “It will take quite some time to heal properly,” he says to Victor as he rises. “The bone might be affected.”

“But it will heal?” Victor asks with a frown, quickly glancing at Yuuri, who is looking down at the bandages in fascination.

“Of course,” the doctor assures him. “But it is important that the boy keeps his foot still, and that he rests. I also found that he is a little malnourished. If you see to it that he gets proper meals then he will be fine again in no time. Omega are so very fragile creatures indeed.”

The doctor takes his bag and checks the bandages once more. “I will have a jar of ointment sent to you by my apprentice tomorrow morning, as well as some bandages. Change them every evening.”

“I will see to it,” Victor nods. “Thank you. I shall take you to the door. Ah, Cao Bin? Please go to the kitchens and have some food sent up to him.”

Victor feels the omega’s eyes on his back as he takes the doctor out of the room and down the stairs. The payment they will handle later, they decide, and since the doctor still owes Victor a favour, it will not cost much. Victor would have called for him regardless – for an actual doctor, one of the learned kind, and not for one of those that one can find at every corner, pulling teeth and fixing broken hands for a single copper coin. The doctor’s ointment alone must have cost more than a day’s bread, Victor thinks. It is more than most people would be able to afford for treatment.

If they receive any treatment at all.

When Victor had seen Yuuri’s master beat him, he had feared for a second that the man would beat him to death. He has heard of slaves that have died of starvation despite having the richest of masters, of slaves drowning in the wells of their master’s backyards. And many, far too many, have been beaten to death. There were only a handful of laws protecting them, but they were not actually enforced. No one seemed to care.

Victor has seen the traces the whip has left on the omega’s arms, arms he had raised to protect himself. The pain will fade, Victor knows that as he absentmindedly climbs the stairs again. The bruises will disappear, too, and his ankle will heal as well, if the gods want it. In the past, Victor has never trusted the gods, and he is sure neither has Yuuri, for they always seemed to favour the masters, and the rich – never the poor, never the weak or unfree.

Slaves are lucky if they get to kiss the feet of holy people walking by.

Slaves are not treated by doctors.

Slaves do not have food sent to them.

Victor knows how unusual his behaviour is, and that it could easily cost him valuable votes in the future. But it is the right thing to do, to help those that cannot help themselves. That he tells himself again and again as he reaches the top of the stairs and goes back to the room above the rose gardens, where the young dancer is waiting.

The omega winces as Victor comes back into the room, and the sight alone breaks Victor’s heart. And it is not just that, but the poor state that the omega is in. The clothes he wears are far too sheer, made to entice and leaving him very little of his dignity. Victor’s own clothes are so very different, their quality alone is beyond compare, made of the finest silk and probably worth more than Yuuri’s life. They influence the way Victor holds himself, his entire posture, it all speaks of power, that much he knows and he uses it to his advantage—and yet, there is a struggle within Victor, a struggle to show that he is not the cold statesman that one might see in him. That he only means well, that he won’t harm Yuuri, that he is safe here. And yet, the tenderness of his character that his friends and family have always praised about him, is now what seems to frighten Yuuri to no end.

No master is ever tender, or gentle, or even kind, Victor realises. 

But Victor keeps smiling at him, apologetically even, as he takes a seat on the other side of the chaise longue and clasps his hands on his lap.

“Cao Bin will bring you something to eat in a moment,” he says, his voice calm and gentle. “After that, I will leave you to rest. These rooms are not occupied for the moment, so sleep for as long as you like.”

Yuuri stares at him, as if not sure what his new master is trying to say to him, as if being doubtful, and Victor can truly not blame him.

“As for the fact that I have bought you,” the senator continues, and Yuuri immediately shrinks on his sest. “I want you to know that I am not your master. And you are not my slave. I have not bought you to continue a cruel tradition that I am not a supporter of. Therefore, I would like to take that choker off you, if you let me.”

The omega stares at him in utter confusion.

And then, a tear rolls down his cheek, and then another, and another, and the omega brings his hand up to his cheek before Victor can react, wiping it away.

“Are you alright?” Victor asks in worry, and Yuuri averts his gaze in shame.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Victor does not push him to speak, and is patient as Yuuri tries to stop the tears from coming. He has never quite known what to do with people that cry in his presence, like his wife, who has cried in front of him far more often than he would like. But perhaps it is the promise of freedom, Victor realises, that has the dancer crying. But Victor waits patiently for the omega to calm down, and Yuuri sniffs as the tears finally stop flowing, but keeps his gaze averted.

“Let me see those eyes.”

Victor reaches out to grasp his chin, his touch ever so gently as he caresses it with his thumb and studies Yuuri’s face with both fascination and interest. His gaze wanders from there to the curve of Yuuri’s bare collarbone, along the soft edges of his arms down to his hands. Only briefly, the man’s gaze brushes the omega’s chest, and Yuuri holds his breath.

The senator looks into his eyes, his hand still caressing his face, and he smiles.

“Can’t you see that you are far too beautiful to be wasted as a slave?” he asks softly.

And with that, he reaches for Yuuri’s nape, and with the strength that only alphas possess, he breaks Yuuri’s chains and removes the choker from his neck.

Only then, he lets go of Yuuri’s chin, and the senator rises to his feet. His clothes fall naturally into place.

Just then, Cao Bin returns, carrying a tray with a variety of food.

“Eat as much as you like,” Victor says to Yuuri. “Cao Bin will bring you clean clothes and something to wear for tonight. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to ask him. Good?”

Yuuri barely manages to nod, and Victor gives him a warm smile. “I shall see you tomorrow. Have a good rest.”

With a final nod at Cao Bin, Victor leaves.

Later that night, after his guests have left, he calls for Cao Bin once more. He learns that it has taken many well-meaning words of the servant to calm the omega down at least a bit, and even more encouragement to finally eat the food meant for him. Victor cannot say that he is surprised, but it breaks his heart nonetheless. He does not even want to imagine what kind of life the dancer has had before.

But it surely was not a life of kindness. That much Victor is certain of.

He cannot change the world for the omega. He may be a powerful man, but some things lie beyond his control. But he can do at least something, and take the omega’s chains away, and make sure that Yuuri will never be in chains again.

* * *

They meet again the following night, after Victor has returned from the senate.

Victor had spoken to Cao Bin again in the morning before he had left for the senate, arranging for a bath as well as for new clothes to be brought to the omega. The sheer clothing the dancer has worn lies abandoned on a chair by the bed when Victor comes to see him in the evening. The omega himself is nowhere to be seen, but there is an apple that has been bitten into on a silver platter on the table by the balcony, and a pillow on the floor, and Victor knows that the omega is around.

He approaches the table and picks up the carafe of wine, pouring each of them a cup as he patiently waits, pretending not to see the hem of a gown disappearing behind one of the pillars. He sets down the carafe and picks up his cup, taking a small sip as he approaches the railing of the open balcony and looks out into the night. The sun has not fully set yet, bathing the residence as well as the garden below in a warm, dimmed light. It is Victor’s favourite time, when the soul can leave behind the burdens of the day and prepare for the night.

“I’m sure it must hurt to stand on your foot for so long,” he says after taking another sip of wine, turning his head into the direction of where he assumes the omega is hiding.

At first, nothing happens.

But then, a hand appears on the pillar, touching the alabaster as if it were the most fragile thing in the world. A moment later, a pair of eyes peeks out from behind the pillar, looking at Victor anxiously, and the senator realises that the omega is most likely shy, and still very much afraid of him.

He truly cannot blame him.

And so, Victor smiles at him, and gestures at the seating accommodations. “Why don’t we take a seat?” He suggests. “I would like to talk to you.”

For a moment, the omega is completely still, the eyes that have enraptured Victor from the very beginning fixed on him in disbelief. Victor gives him another smile before he moves to sit down, far more casually than he would usually allow himself in the company of others, and waits.

Yuuri is hesitant as he steps out from behind the pillar, probably not only because he is shy, but because he can only walk very slowly with his ankle being as it is. His gown is of a deep, emerald green, secured with a leather belt around the waist that gives the omega the loveliest figure. It is a gown far too simple for him, Victor thinks as he looks at him and feels his mouth go dry at the omega’s sight. Yuuri deserves to be clad in silk, and hung with silver and gold.

There is something incredibly primal about what Victor feels, and what he tries to suppress the moment the omega comes closer. Never before has his alpha let him feel such desires as it does now, at the mere sight of a single omega. But Victor suppresses it, and takes a deep breath, just as Yuuri sinks down on the other chaise longue, his hands clasped demurely on his lap.

A sight to behold.

Victor pulls himself together and pushes the other cup of wine towards him, as well as the plate with fruit. It is the very same that Cao Bin must have taken up to the room the night before, and yet, only the apple has been touched so far.

“You must be hungry,” Victor says. “There is more than enough. Eat as much as you like.”

To prove his point, and to make eating perhaps a little less embarrassing, Victor reaches for a pomegranate and cuts it open, offering one half to Yuuri. The omega looks at him with the same anxiety and hesitation as before, only slowly reaching out for the fruit when he realises that Victor is not playing a game with him. Victor gives him an encouraging smile before he looks away, only watching from the corner of his eye as Yuuri nibbles on the fruit, as if still determined to not make a single sound or not to take too much space.

“I hope you slept well last night,” Victor says in an attempt to make light conversation. “The music from the banquet room was not too loud, no?”

Yuuri immediately shakes his head, as if the mere thought of complaining about being disturbed by loud music were an entirely foreign concept to him. Victor is sure that the music was indeed loud, and has worried about it robbing the omega of his well-deserved sleep for the rest of the night – but then again, the omega has most likely learnt to never complain.

“And how is your ankle?” Victor asks, looking down at the bandaged foot peeking out from the hem of Yuuri’s gown. Immediately, Yuuri seems to make himself even smaller on his seat, uncomfortable with being interrogated like this. But as he shifts, Victor can see him wince, and he knows that the dancer must be in pain still.

“May I take a look at it?” Victor asks softly, gesturing at Yuuri’s foot. “The bandages need to be changed, no?”

The omega stares at him with wide eyes and opens his mouth as if to protest, but closes it again, as if he has just remembered where he stands.

Victor frowns. “What is it?”

Yuuri averts his gaze, looking anywhere but at him as he murmurs something inaudible.

“I’m sorry,” Victor says softly and moves a little closer to him. “I did not understand what you were saying.”

The omega shivers and seems to shrink even more in his seat, but he repeats his words, still very quiet, but this time, Victor hears him.

“You don’t have to taint your hands on me, Master.”

His heart breaks anew.

“Yuuri, I am not your master,” Victor says immediately and reaches out to take the omega’s hand, but Yuuri backs away, his eyes wide in both shock and fear at the alpha’s touch. Immediately, Victor regrets it, not wanting to scare him any further. And so, he clasps his hands on his lap, where Yuuri can see them, before he repeats his words.

“I am not your master, Yuuri. And you are not my slave. You are a free man, and you are my guest. You are free to leave at any time. Please believe me. I have no intention to harm you in any way.”

Victor does not even want to imagine what things must have led Yuuri to believe that such words are always lies, no matter by whom they are spoken, for the omega still refuses to look at him. His pale, tender hands grab the edges of the chaise longue, as if awaiting a blow in punishment.

“Let me have a look at your ankle, yes?” Victor asks again, softer this time, and does not attempt to touch Yuuri again without his consent. “I shall be gentle.”

It is the tiniest of nods that finally gives him permission, and Victor goes to fetch water, bandages and ointment before he lifts the omega foot onto his lap and removes the bandages the doctor has put on him the night before. The omega holds still, is almost frozen as Victor carefully examines his ankle after the bandages have come off. It is a rather ugly sight, that Victor has to admit, with the omega’s ankle covered in green and blue bruises starting to fade into a dark yellow. It reminds him very much of his own injuries, when he was much younger than he is now, when he has still sparred with his peers to prove his strength. Bruises like this will heal, he knows that, but what about the wounds of Yuuri’s soul?

“I remember how painful such things can be,” Victor says softly as he reaches for a cloth and dips it into the water to wipe away the dried remains of the ointment from Yuuri’s skin. “When I was fourteen, I sparred with a friend of mine, and he had fought me right into a corner when I tripped over a rock and twisted my ankle terribly. My friend helped me up, but by the time we had reached the house, the pain had become almost unbearable. I feared that I would lose my foot, but my father only laughed and sent for a doctor.” Victor smiles fondly at the memory, at how worried his mother and how calm his father had been. How Chris had refused to leave his side, apologising to him over and over again.

They had been so young.

“My foot looked just like yours,” Victor continues, setting down the wet cloth and reaching for the ointment the doctor has given them. “It took some time, of course, but it healed, and I could spar with my friend again. Just like you will be able to dance again, if you wish to do so.”

The omega says nothing, stunned into silence as he watches the senator apply a generous amount of ointment to his still swollen ankle before wrapping fresh bandages around it. Victor truly is by no means a medical man, but he knows how to take care of injuries.

“I must admit that I… I could not stop watching you when you danced,” Victor says softly as he secures the bandages carefully. “To me, it seemed as if you were in your very own world. You danced as if no one was watching you. As if you were entirely alone.”

The bandages are tight and secure around Yuuri’s ankle now, the ointment working its magic, but Victor’s hand remains on Yuuri’s foot, holding it as if it were the most fragile, most precious thing in the world. And neither does the omega withdraw it from Victor’s grasp, his intelligent, brown eyes fixed on the floor, looking anywhere but at Victor.

“You do like to dance, don’t you?” Victor asks softly, and much to his surprise, he gets a gentle nod in return.

“When I…” Yuuri begins, but immediately falls silent again, as if he has only just realised that he is about to speak his mind. But Victor is patient, waiting for the omega to decide whether he wants to continue or not. He won’t push him to speak if he does not want to. But the omega seems to change his mind, taking a deep breath before he says: “When I danced, I felt free. They couldn’t force it onto me. Dancing was only mine.”

There is determination in Yuuri’s voice, and Victor can tell that he means it. Everyone who has watched him dance last night would say the same – that the way Yuuri has danced was unique, that he had created music with his body alone, and had lured them in as if he were a temptress sent by the gods. The mere memory of Yuuri’s art makes Victor’s heart ache in his chest, and he longs to see him dance again.

If Yuuri wants it, that is.

After all, he is free now. He does not have to dance again, if he does not want to. Victor certainly would not blame him for never wanting to dance again.

“I want to dance again,” Yuuri says quietly, pulling Victor out of his thoughts. “One day.”

Victor smiles. “And you will,” he promises, finally lifting Yuuri’s foot off his lap and setting it down on a cushion. “Give it time. Until then, you are my most honoured guest.”

The omega lifts his gaze, studying Victor almost critically, as if Victor’s words are too good to be true.

Perhaps they are.

And then, Yuuri takes a deep breath and asks: “What is it you want in return, senator?”

Victor blinks in confusion. “I’m sorry?”

“What do you want in return for your kindness, sir?” Yuuri asks again and sits up properly, meeting Victor’s gaze. “I… I can pleasure you, if you would like that as payment.”

“Pleasure me—no, of course not!” Victor exclaims in shock and raises his hands in defence. “Why would you think I—”

But then he remembers that Yuuri has led a very different life until now – and that demands like that in exchange for just a little bit of kindness were probably far more common than Victor would like to admit.

What kind of things Yuuri had to do in the past in order to survive, Victor does not know, and he is afraid to imagine it.

“Yuuri, I promise you, I expect nothing, absolutely nothing in return,” Victor assures him, and the omega frowns. “I could not sit back and watch you being beaten. I helped you because I wanted to, not because I expected a favour of any sort in return. And I don’t expect any payment.”

Yuuri looks at him in utter disbelief, just before he lets out a small, breathless laugh and shakes his head a little. “Then you must be mad, sir.”

Victor remembers what the omega’s former master has said, about Yuuri’s worth.

_Do you know what his virginity’s worth alone?_

It is no wonder that Yuuri is highly suspicious of him, then.

“Perhaps I am mad, yes,” Victor says softly, clasping his hands on his lap. “But I would never expect such favours in return, no matter the circumstances.”

Yuuri regards him thoughtfully, as if coming to a conclusion about Victor’s character, and Victor can only hope that his final judgement of him is a mild one.

“I still do not understand why you helped me then, sir,” the dancer says softly. “Why would you help a slave and waste your money, if not to make use of your purchase?”

Victor feels his ears burn at that, and a cold shiver runs down his spine as his consciousness reminds him of the truth, and that the omega deserves to hear it – that Yuuri _must_ hear it, if Victor wants him to trust him at all.

Victor reaches for the carafe and refills his cup, taking a large sip of the sweet wine before he speaks again, looking anywhere but at the omega.

“I grew up in a household full of slaves. My mother and father only had to lift a finger, and one would come running. My nursemaid was a slave, just like my first teacher. I did not know a different life.” He takes another sip of wine before he continues: “I did not think much about whether it was right or wrong for a long time. When I was eight years old, my father sent me away to study at the temple school. There, I had a teacher that taught me the basics of philosophy. I realised that all people were born equal, and I began to ask questions. Questions that my… my father did not like, but I kept asking him why some people were master and others were slaves. One day, he had enough of my questions,” Victor says with a shaking breath, closing his eyes for a moment. “I was thirteen, and he grabbed me by the arm, and took me into the city, to the slave market. Back then, there still were public punishments of disobedient slaves. A practice that I put an end to when I became a member of the senate. But that day, the punishments were still taking place. My father dragged me to the front and told me to watch. They were beating a young woman for disobeying her mistress. I don’t know what they claimed she had done, but the woman was begging on her knees for mercy. No one listened. They began to flog her. I wanted to look away, but my father grabbed my head and forced me to watch. The woman’s back was already torn to pieces when they let go of her. But she fell to her knees before her mistress and begged her for mercy. I will never forget how she looked at her, as if her mistress were her goddess. In some way, she was. She would decide over life and death.” Victor pauses, looking down at the golden bracelet around his wrist. Just another item that declares him a member of the ruling class, of the free people.

“Her mistress spat at her and walked away, sealing her fate. The woman was beaten to death that day. And no one stepped in. No priest, no holy person came to her rescue. And my father forced me to watch. He said it was the will of the gods that there are masters and slaves. That our kind must rule over the other.”

Victor lets out a shaking breath and pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart. He tries not to think of that day too often, for it always upsets him. But this day is what has driven his decisions until today, and it will keep doing so for the rest of his life, that much Victor knows.

“This is the reason I do not support slavery,” he says and finally looks back at Yuuri. “And it is why I do not have any slaves of my own. I don’t want my servants to look at me as if I were their god, the one to decide over life and death. I don’t want the people working for me to live in fear.”

The way Yuuri looks at him tells Victor that the story does not shock him as much as it should. For him, Victor realises, this must have been part of his reality, to know that his master could easily end his life whenever he wants to. That obedience is out of the question, and the only guaranteed means of survival, no matter what a master might ask of him.

“I see,” the omega says softly. “You have a kind heart.”

Victor smiles a little, even if he does not feel like it after telling the story that has haunted him ever since. “That is very kind of you to say.”

Yuuri shifts a little on his seat, clasping his hands on his lap and readjusting his gown. “So you do not want anything from me in return, sir?” He asks, still hesitant.

Victor shakes his head. “No, Yuuri. Nothing. Your trust is more than enough.”

The omega studies him, and once more, Victor notices how thoughtful his gaze is. Yuuri is an enigma, and so much is hidden behind those brown eyes, so much that Victor would feel honoured to discover.

“I hope that we may become friends,” Victor says, pushing the thoughts his alpha wants to force on him aside. “Do you think you could trust me, as a friend?”

For a moment, he is sure that the omega will laugh at him. But Yuuri nods, and there is a small smile on his lips, and it is a smile that lights up the night.

“I would be honoured to be your friend, sir.”

“Victor,” Victor says immediately. “My name is Victor.”

Yuuri silently tries the name first, as if to feel how it sits on his tongue. “Victor…” He says slowly before he nods, almost shyly so, and Victor could not be more relieved. He reaches for the carafe of wine and pours Yuuri a fresh cup, and rings the bell for a servant.

“Say, Yuuri… do you play cards?”

* * *

Every night, they meet for a game of cards.

Yuuri is a quick learner, Victor realises after teaching him several different games. Furthermore, he realises that Yuuri truly hates to lose. Although the omega is still very shy and does not speak much, Victor can see the determination in his eyes when he plays cards with him, and that he thinks about every move with great care. They will share fruits and wine, and Victor learns quickly that Yuuri prefers water sweetened with berries, or infused with leaves from the eastern provinces. The eastern provinces are where Yuuri is from, that his former master has not lied about, but also that Yuuri does not remember much of his home. He has been taken away when he was very little, and does not even remember his parents.

Victor cannot even imagine what that must be like.

Every night, Victor will take care of Yuuri’s foot, and change the bandages around his ankle. Every time the bandages come off, Yuuri will hold his breath, as if afraid to see that it has become worse. But his ankle is healing wonderfully, and the pain is fading, and Yuuri is no longer afraid of the pain. Nevertheless, he is still struggling whenever he tries to walk, and Victor can see how much it frustrates him.

After all, Yuuri has the soul of a dancer, and being unable to move is torture to him.

But Yuuri never complains.

Yuuri never cries, regardless of the pain he feels.

But slowly, Yuuri begins to open up.

It is the little things that make the omega speak, Victor realises one evening as he comes to spend time with him, and finds Yuuri sitting on the chaise longue with a book. The sight alone makes Victor stop in his tracks, and he watches the omega in utter fascination. Yuuri is tracing the letters with his fingers, whispering the words to himself as he reads – slowly, but with clear understanding of what he reads, and Victor cannot help but stare at him in awe.

“Where did you learn to read?” Victor asks him before he realises how rude that must sound, and Yuuri only then notices that he is there, almost dropping the book.

“I found it in the cupboard!” He explains quickly and closes the book, pushing it away from himself and bowing his head. “I did not—”

“Yuuri!” Victor immediately sits down beside him. “Please, do not be afraid! I am not angry. You may use and enjoy everything you find here.” He picks up the book, a collection of poetry, and places it in Yuuri’s lap again. “You seemed so entranced whilst reading.”

Yuuri’s hands come to rest on top of the leather-bound book, most carefully so, as if afraid that it would break under his touch. He reminds Victor of a child that has been caught in the act of stealing sweets – a sight that would be most lovely, were it not so heartbreaking in Yuuri’s case.

“My first mistress taught me how to read,” he says quietly, not looking at Victor. “She wanted someone around to read to her in the evening.”

Victor nods. “How old were you then?”

“I don’t know,” Yuuri says softly and blushes, instantly becoming much smaller on his seat. “I don’t know how old I am.”

That again is news for Victor, and for a moment, he does not even know what to say.

“You don’t know it at all?” He asks softly, trying to sound as gentle and understanding as he can, not wanting to upset the omega any further. Yuuri shakes his head.

“Well…” Victor looks around in the room, a little helpless. “Do you perhaps remember when you… you know…” He clears his throat. “Since you are an omega, you…”

Yuuri blushes furiously at that, and Victor feels his heart skip a beat at the sight. The blush on Yuuri’s cheeks is doing the cruellest of things to him, and tugs on the instincts that he has always tried so hard to suppress in any way. But he is just a man, just an alpha on top of that, and before him sits an omega, young and vulnerable, and his instincts want him to act.

“I… I’ve had them for a while,” Yuuri murmurs and tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, avoiding to look at Victor. “I’ve grown much since then.”

Yuuri is very much an adult judging by his looks, at least to Victor, but his face is youthful and his curves soft; clear indicators that Yuuri is still very young. Not even twenty, most likely.

Victor can hardly remember what it is like to be twenty years old.

“Well, I am thirty-two,” he says, and Yuuri suddenly looks up. On his face, there is clear confusion, and Victor wonders if he has said something wrong.

“Your hair…”

“Huh?” Victor touches his hair, confused, before he realises what Yuuri means. “Oh!” He laughs and shakes his head. “No, it’s not grey. That is my natural hair colour. A very, very light shade, I know. Not the result of old age.”

“Oh.” Yuuri blinks, and suddenly looks relieved, even, before he begins to chuckle.

At that, the tension finally breaks between them, and Victor cannot help but laugh as well. Yuuri’s laugh is wonderful, free and genuine, not meant to please or to be musical on purpose. But it is beautiful, so beautiful that Victor wants to hear more of it, for Yuuri’s laugh to never leave him again.

“Did you enjoy the poems?” Victor asks, gesturing at the book on Yuuri’s lap.

Yuuri nods softly, carefully opening the book again. “They are beautiful,” he says, running his hands gently over the parchment and ink. “Are poems always about love?”

“Not always, no,” Victor replies, shaking his head. “But a lot of them are. They are said to be the language of love. Some people say the gods gave poetry to humankind to help them express their feelings to one another.”

Yuuri nods, carefully turning the pages. “E…ro…s…” he reads quietly. “Ag… Aga… Aga…”

“Agape,” Victor says to help him, moving a little closer to the omega. “Two of the many faces of love.”

“Agape,” Yuuri repeats, his fingertips lingering on the page. “What is the difference?”

“Well,” Victor clears his throat. “Eros is… sexual love. The desire between… between two beings.”

“Ah.” Yuuri blushes just as much as Victor is sure he does. “And… Agape?”

“Agape is unconditional love,” Victor explains. “Like the love between a mother and her child. Love that knows no… no prerequisites. Love that just… is.”

“I see,” Yuuri says softly, his eyes still fixed on the pages before him. With his fingers, he traces the words Eros and Agape, as if trying to feel them through his fingertips and soak up their meaning. “A combination of both is the ideal, then?”

“Huh?”

“To feel both Eros and Agape for someone,” Yuuri says, looking up. “To love one another unconditionally, but to also desire the other. To feel… to feel love with both body and soul.”

Victor stares at him, his mouth suddenly very dry, and his heart in turmoil.

“I… I never thought of it that way,” he says, forcing himself to remain calm. Never before has he struggled so much with his nature, his alpha that he has always suppressed deep inside him suddenly coming out, awakening in the presence of the omega. But he cannot allow himself to act on it.

He must not act on it.

“Is it wrong?” Yuuri asks, suddenly anxious of what he has said, and his eyes widen in worry.

“Not at all!” Victor says immediately. “I think it is a good observation. An excellent one, actually.”

Yuuri blushes again. “I’m glad,” he says quietly, and holds the book close to his chest, as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

That night, Victor barely sleeps.

* * *

Victor knows that he is courting Yuuri by every trick in the book, and that he should not be doing so.

By the time Yuuri has been with him for a fortnight, he has brought him so many gifts, big and small, that he has lost count. He brings Yuuri another collection of poetry, a small, leather-bound book that Chris has recommended from his personal collection. Victor asks Yuuri to close his eyes before he places the book in his hands, and naturally, the omega is suspicious, and Victor has to assure him that he is not about to play a trick on him. But as Yuuri opens his eyes again and finds the book on his lap, his eyes begin to shine, and he gives Victor a smile that could bring down entire dynasties.

He should not be courting him.

And yet, his alpha commands him to do precisely that – regardless of the fact that on the other side of his mansion, a wife awaits him. A wife he has neglected because of Yuuri even more than he usually does.

A dispute with his wife is the very last thing that Victor needs at the moment, not with a young, helpless omega in the house. For Evgenia is proud, and stubborn, like most alpha women, and the presence of an omega in the house would do more to her than simply upset her.

Victor would not even know what to say to her, if she were to ask him why he took the omega in, why he chose to step in and buy a slave, despite being known as the senator that works the hardest against a practice that he finds most cruel. Victor knows that Evgenia could probably not care less. She has grown up with many slaves, and has even brought two of them with her into the marriage as her handmaidens. Even if he tells her the things he has told Yuuri, about what he has been forced to witness as a young boy, he is sure she will not understand.

Taking care of Yuuri’s injuries has long become nothing more than an excuse that Victor tells himself whenever he goes to see him. It is Yuuri that makes him go to the chambers above the rose garden every night, Yuuri alone. Victor wants to be near him, speak to him, hear his voice and feel his warmth. With every hour they spend together, Yuuri seems to open up more to him, Victor earning more and more of the omega’s trust. Yuuri is no longer as withdrawn and hesitant as he was in the beginning, daring to speak without averting his gaze. He is a wonderful conversational partner, thoughtful and with a sharp mind, nothing like Victor would have thought. Even more so, he begins to show interest in what Victor does.

“What is it like?” He asks him over a shared plate of pomegranate seeds whilst Victor takes care of his ankle.

“This?” Victor asks with a frown, pausing in his task of bandaging Yuuri’s foot.

Yuuri chuckles. “No,” he says. “Being a senator.”

“Oh, that,” Victor laughs and continues with his work, carefully wrapping the clean bandages around the omega’s ankle. The swelling has significantly reduced and is barely there anymore, and even the bruises have begun to fade. Nonetheless, walking is still rather painful for the dancer, and Yuuri can only take the smallest and most careful of steps whenever he walks. But they must be patient, so that Yuuri will be able to dance again.

“It is… an exhausting profession,” he admits. “An honourable one, maybe. But it is exhausting. There are long debates without end. One must always be careful about the things that are being said and done. I must keep my eyes and ears open at all times, uncover conspiracies before they might even develop. There are decisions to make that will influence not only the whole of Petersburg, but the entire realm. All these decisions lie in the hands of twelve men, and I am part of them. And one day, I will have to justify myself before the gods. I may be a senator, with a lot of power, but it is only borrowed. So I must learn to be humble, too.”

Only as he finishes, Victor realises that no one has ever asked him what it is like to be a senator before. Yuuri is the first to do so, and that truth alone settles deep within Victor, making him look at the omega in utter fascination. Yuuri returns his gaze in an equal fashion, studying Victor thoughtfully, trying to make sense of what he has said.

“Do you do good things?” He asks then.

Victor looks down at his ankle again, gently securing the bandages. “I try to. I cannot always influence the outcome of things.”

“I see,” Yuuri says softly. “What things are you trying to do at the moment?”

Victor gently runs his hand over the bandaged ankle of the omega, not quite willing to let go of him yet. “At the moment, we are trying to establish our educational system in the eastern provinces. The negotiations turned out to be rather complicated, however.”

“Why?”

“The representatives keep sending us their answers in their language,” Victor explains. “We only have one messenger that can read it. It is an entirely different writing system.”

“I can read it.”

Victor blinks.

“You can?”

Yuuri nods and blushes adorably, as if suddenly embarrassed to admit that.

“How so?” Victor asks curiously.

Yuuri shifts a little on his seat. “My… first mistress was from the eastern provinces, that’s why her husband bought me for her. She wanted someone who looked like her. She taught me everything. I was… like her own child to her, I guess. We would practise kanji every day.”

What an enigma Yuuri is.

“She died of an illness and her husband sold me afterwards,” Yuuri adds quietly. “But I still remember most of what she taught me, I think.”

Victor beams at him. “I shall be right back,” he says and carefully puts Yuuri’s ankle down on a cushion before he rises and rushes out of the room, down the stairs to his private study where he has a few letters and translations. With them in hand, he returns to Yuuri’s chambers, where the omega awaits him with a cautious look on his face.

He is so beautiful that it makes Victor’s heart skip a beat every time he looks at him.

“Here,” he says and sits down beside Yuuri, handing him a scroll. “What do you think?”

Watching Yuuri read the language of his people is an utterly moving experience. The omega’s eyes begin to shine at the sight of the complicated letters that make no sense to Victor, but seen to mean so much to Yuuri. Just like with the books, the omega traces the ink with his fingertips, mouthing the words that he reads, whispering to himself in the melodic tongue of the eastern provinces that Victor has heard only a handful of times so far. From Yuuri’s lips, it sounds almost like a song, an invocation of the gods, even.

“They are happy to oblige,” Yuuri says, looking up from his reading and back at Victor. “But they ask that they remain allowed to teach their own language, too. As it is part of their identity.”

“They do?” Victor frowns and picks up the translation, quickly scanning through it. “It says none of this here.”

Yuuri briefly glances at the translation. “It seems like it was omitted on purpose.”

Victor cannot believe it.

“I believe you might have stopped a revolt before it even began,” he says, looking up from the translation at Yuuri. “Thank you.”

Yuuri blushes, and clasps his hands on his lap in an almost demure manner, as if attempting to make himself as small as possible.

“Are you alright?” Victor asks, putting the parchments aside.

Yuuri nods softly. “I’ve… never been thanked before,” he admits, wringing his hands on his lap. “I do not know how… how to respond.”

There are many things about Yuuri that break Victor’s heart. The way he holds himself when he is not sure whether the things he said were appropriate or not. The fact he never dares to touch food before Victor does. It should not surprise him that no one has ever expressed his gratitude towards Yuuri, but it does. Victor cannot believe how cruel the world has been to him, refuses to believe it. But Yuuri’s life and his experiences are real, just like his own.

“You don’t have to,” Victor says and reaches out for Yuuri’s hand before he even knows what he is doing. But the omega does not shy away from his touch, only meets his gaze, and Victor feels his warmth.

* * *

The following night, Victor gifts him a collection of poetry written in Japanese.

The omega smiles at him, in his gaze the warmth of the sun and the graciousness of the gods, and Victor realises that he has fallen in love with him.

He should not court him.

But he does.

* * *

Yuuri laughs, and with him, so does the universe.

There is no greater joy to Victor than to hear the omega laugh the way he does now, light and carefree, in almost childlike wonder as he sets one foot before the other. There are no bandages on his ankle anymore, the skin no longer in various shades of green, blue, and purple. Nothing is left to remind them of the pain that Yuuri has been in, pain that has kept the omega from dancing. That is what he does now, Victor realises as he watches him with a heavy heart. Yuuri dances, gracefully so, humming to himself as he carefully twirls and turns. There is no music to dance to, but Victor can hear it still, the music that Yuuri creates with his body.

He is Eros, and he is Agape.

And Victor knows he has to let him go.

Yuuri laughs, lifting his arms gracefully above his head as he turns. “I can dance again!” He exclaims in pure joy. “Victor, I can dance again!”

Victor smiles. “You can,” he says softly.

It is the day he has feared and longed for the most – he has longed to see Yuuri dance again, to see him smile like he does now. But he has also feared this day, for it means that Yuuri does not need him any longer. His ankle is healed, and Yuuri dances, like a bird spreading its wings for the first time after a long and cold winter.

He is the most beautiful thing Victor has ever seen, but he is not his to keep.

And so, Victor puts on a brave smile, and tries to be happy, although the sadness has crept into his heart and holds it tight.

Yuuri grins, and he twirls, and then he suddenly stumbles, as if the ground were suddenly giving in beneath his feet. He cries out in pain and surprise, and Victor’s heart skips a beat, and he barely manages to catch Yuuri and save him from falling. The omega falls into his arms, just in time before he could hurt himself on the railing of the balcony, and Victor panicks.

“Yuuri, are you alright?”

The omega is in his arms, his forehead pressed into Victor’s shoulder, holding onto him as he goes very, very still. Victor dares not to say another word, his chest rising and falling as he waits for the omega to react. He is close, so incredibly close, and Victor can feel his touch like burning traces through the fabric of his robe.

An inaudible sob shakes Yuuri’s body, and it breaks Victor’s heart.

“Yuuri…” Victor’s voice is barely more than a whisper as he cups Yuuri’s cheek and lifts his gaze. There are no tears falling from the omega’s eyes, but there is deep and utter sadness of a kind that Victor has never seen before. Never before has the urge to hide the omega way stronger than it is now, the alpha instincts that Victor has always buried deep inside him now coming again to the surface. He wants to hold Yuuri forever, keep him safe, and dry his tears, for them to never come again.

And here, he has him, in his arms, and his thumb traces the line of Yuuri’s cheekbone as the omega meets his gaze again, and the desperation in it pains Victor the most.

For this is supposed to be the moment that seals their parting, is it not? Yuuri is not a slave anymore, his ankle healed now, and Victor has promised him that he may leave at any time. He has to keep that promise, whether he likes it or not, even if it will shatter his heart into a thousand pieces and leave it beyond mending. Yuuri is not his to own. Not his to keep.

But Yuuri does not want to go, a small voice whispers to him, and Victor wants to cry at the twists of fate that have come over them both.

“I don’t want to go,” Yuuri whispers weakly, his voice breaking in the midst of speaking. But it confirms what Victor already knows. He swallows thickly.

“Then don’t,” he whispers and closes his eyes, bringing Yuuri closer as he kisses him tenderly on the lips.

He must be dreaming, Victor is sure of it as he holds Yuuri in his arms. It must be a dream, for no one could ever be so lucky, to hold and kiss Yuuri the way he is allowed to. Victor pulls away, looking down at Yuuri, wanting to know if this is what he wants, but Yuuri just looks at him in awe, and Victor kisses him again. Yuuri’s feels incredibly fragile in his arms, as if he were made of glass, as if the slightest mistake could break him. He caresses his cheeks, pulling Yuuri closer as he kisses him, every single one of them begging the omega to stay, for Victor knows he won’t be able to live without him, not after all the time they have spent together. Without Yuuri’s warmth and care, he won’t be able to survive for long.

But Yuuri breaks the kiss and pulls away, stepping away from Victor all of a sudden as he flees to the railing of the balcony. He grips it tight, his eyes squeezed shut, and he trembles, shaken by sobs and this time, there are tears rolling down his cheeks. Victor has never seen something so tragic before, and he feels helpless.

“I cannot stay,” Yuuri whispers, shaking his head vigorously. “I cannot.”

“Yuuri…” Victor is frozen where he stands, unable to move, or to even lift a hand. His arms that have held Yuuri just seconds ago suddenly feel cold and empty, abandoned by what belongs there. “Why can you not stay?”

Yuuri keeps shaking his head. “It is not right.”

“Why is it not right, my Yuuri?” Victor breathes and finally, the spell is broken, and he manages to take a step towards him. “I don’t understand.”

“I do not belong into your world, Victor!” Yuuri cries and looks at him, in his eyes despair as well as anger, and deep frustration.

Victor bows his head.

“My world is empty, Yuuri,” he says quietly. “Empty, when it is without you. You can have all of it.”

“I have to go.”

“Yuuri, where would you go?”

Yuuri sniffs, and he looks away, as if to preserve his pride. “I don’t know…?” He says, and it sounds almost like a question.

Victor closes the distance between them for good, reaching out to take Yuuri’s hand, the other cupping his cheek. “Look at me, please.”

Yuuri is stubborn, that much Victor already knows, and he knows it even more now as Yuuri takes his time to do as he is asked, only hesitantly meeting Victor’s gaze.

“If you wish to leave me, then I will not hold you back,” Victor says quietly, caressing Yuuri’s cheek ever so gently. “But do not think you have to leave because you might not belong here. Can you not see how precious you are to me? That my heart, and everything in it, is entirely yours?”

Yuuri swallows thickly, and for a moment, Victor is sure the omega will burst into tears again. “I love you so, Victor,” he breathes, and another sob shakes him, so much that Victor has to pull him into his arms and hold him tight. “So much that my heart aches…”

Victor buries his face in Yuuri’s hair, and his own heart aches, too. To know that he was not mistaken, that the feelings he has for Yuuri are mutual, set his heart on fire, and the burning desire that he has believed to have long forgotten now sits heavy inside him, and it longs for Yuuri.

Yuuri, who holds onto him as if he were the only thing in the world to keep him from drowning.

Yuuri, who loves him so.

“Stay with me,” Victor whispers, caressing his hair. “Live with me. Love me.”

Yuuri looks up, his eyes red and swollen from crying, but to Victor, he has never looked more beautiful. “Am I really allowed to?” He asks quietly.

Victor cannot help but chuckle, and he presses their foreheads together. “Until the end of time, my love.”

At that, Yuuri smiles, and it lights up the night. Victor takes his hand and guides him back to the sitting area, pulling Yuuri onto his lap. He is gorgeous, Victor thinks as he looks at his beloved, the light of the candles caressing Yuuri’s face with the most beautiful colours. And then, they are kissing again, slow and unhurried, for they now have all the time in the world. Yuuri is hesitant, shy even, and in everything he does, Victor can feel that he feels uncertain if this is right. And so, he guides him, a hand in Yuuri’s nape as they explore each other’s mouths, and Yuuri’s arms come around his neck. Yuuri is warm, so very warm in his embrace, and Victor is sure that this must be the touch of Heaven. They only part to catch their breaths, but even then, they won’t look away from each other, and Victor cannot help but admire his beloved.

“You are so beautiful,” Victor whispers, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind Yuuri’s ear, the touch alone making the omega blush adorably. “Breathtakingly so.”

“Victor…” Yuuri whispers, his eyes shining in utter adoration and delight, and Victor can tell that although the omega is shy, he is happy. But then, Yuuri looks away, averts his gaze, and he almost looks sad again, making Victor frown.

“Yuuri?” He asks softly and sits up a little, as much as having Yuuri on his lap allows him. “Are you well?”

His beloved says nothing for a moment, but takes a deep breath before he says: “You are married, are you not?”

Victor blinks.

But Yuuri’s words are not an accusation, and also not just a simple question.

“I am,” Victor confirms, running his hand down Yuuri’s back to settle on his waist. “It is an arranged marriage. We do not love each other.”

“Do you have children?” Yuuri asks, looking back at him, and Victor knows he won’t get out of this unless he has given Yuuri all the answers he deserves.

He shakes his head. “No. We don’t have any children. We hardly ever see each other.”

Whatever that information means to Yuuri, Victor cannot tell. But Yuuri is thinking about it, for there is a small frown on the omega’s face, and he is biting down on his lower lip, very much like he does when he is thinking about his next move when playing cards.

“You are not destroying a marriage here,” Victor says, not sure if this is what Yuuri needs to hear. “My wife and I… we have separate lives. I have no feelings for her. But those I have for you, Yuuri, are genuine. I swear that by all that is holy.”

Yuuri shifts on his lap, bringing a hand up to his eyes, wiping away a tear from the corner of his eye. “You… you really want me here, then?” He asks helplessly. “You really want me to be with you?”

Victor cups his cheeks and brings their foreheads together, their noses touching and their breaths mingling. It is the most intimate he has ever been with someone, sharing his breath with another person, and the urge to kiss Yuuri’s lips is almost overwhelming. “You are my Eros,” he whispers, “and you are my Agape.”

For an incredibly long moment, neither of them say a word, holding their breaths in unsure anticipation. Victor can feel Yuuri’s pulse, the beating of his heart so very close to his own, and he knows he wants to have him tonight.

He wants to claim Yuuri as his own, and declare to the world that no one else will ever get to have him.

It is a rather primal form of desire, of course.

But Victor is sure that Yuuri can feel it, too, and wants it all the same.

Yuuri leans forward, pressing the most tender of kisses to Victor’s lips before he pulls away again, almost shyly so, and reaches into his nape where he has fastened his gown. It comes off, sliding down Yuuri’s chest before Victor realises what is happening, and pools around his waist. Yuuri sits completely still, waiting for Victor to say something, as if waiting for approval, but the alpha is unable to do anything but stare.

With a growl, he captures Yuuri’s lips in a hungry kiss, and forgotten are any last hesitations.

He grabs Yuuri by the hips and lifts him into his arms, the gown sliding down Yuuri’s legs and remaining abandoned on the floor as Victor carries him through the room to the bed waiting behind the curtains. Not once do they break their kiss, Yuuri’s lips locked with his own, the omega’s hands buried in his hair. Not even as Victor puts him down on the mattress does Yuuri let go of him, drinking the love from Victor’s lips, and Victor obliges, climbing over him with desire burning deep inside him. Only as they need to breathe, they break apart, and Victor takes in the beauty before him.

Yuuri’s blush spreads from his face down to his navel, painting his body in an irresistible, rosy colour. His skin is so soft that Victor almost does not dare to touch it, and the soft curve of his belly is where Victor wants to hide his face, to worship him forevermore. What awaits him further down, Victor does not even dare to dream of, for he is sure he will lose any last bit of self-restraint if he does.

“I want to see you, too,” Yuuri whispers, running his hand across the robe that Victor is still wearing. Immediately, the senator makes quick work of it, discarding his clothing to the floor beside their bed. Yuuri sits up and reaches out to touch him, and Victor lets him.

Victor wonders if this is the first time for Yuuri to see another man, an alpha, even, nude before him. Yuuri’s gaze is attentive, curious, even, as it wanders over his body; his small, tender hands running over Victor’s arms and chest, sending the most wonderful shivers down the alpha’s spine.

“You are beautiful,” Yuuri says softly, smiling up at Victor full of love and adoration. It is a most unusual thing to say to an alpha, for their strength and power are usually the qualities they are being praised for. Beauty is not important. But Yuuri’s words make Victor’s heart ache with outmost desire, desire for the omega before him, to hold him, and to never let him go again.

“You are breathtaking,” Victor says, and leans in to kiss Yuuri again. Their arms come around each other as he gently lowers Yuuri onto the mattress again, making sure his head is on a pillow as he runs his hands over the omega’s body, trying to feel every inch of him, to touch and kiss him in every place he can reach. Yuuri responds so wonderfully, arching his back as Victor kisses down over his chest to his navel, trembling as the alpha’s fingers trace the inside of his thighs. Victor comes back up, Yuuri’s hand immediately in his hair and bringing him down for another kiss. They will never grow tired of it, Victor is sure of that as he caresses Yuuri’s waist, Yuuri’s kisses becoming bolder with every second that passes. The burning desire that Victor has managed to suppress for so long becomes more unbearable with every touch, and Yuuri’s gentle moans, albeit shy, do their part. With the greatest care that he can muster, Victor spreads the omega’s legs and pushes two fingers into him, and Yuuri mewls beneath him.

“V-Victor…” Yuuri’s nails are digging into the alpha’s arms as he carefully works him open. The omega is tight, so wonderfully tight, and that alone is enough to tell Victor that Yuuri has never been touched before. Victor stills in his movements, his fingers barely inside him, and he gently caresses Yuuri’s hip to soothe him.

“Take deep breaths, my love,” he whispers into his ear. “Allow me to love you.”

Yuuri lets out a shaking breath, and Victor lowers his head to nuzzle the omega’s neck. It is always painful for an omega, Victor knows, to be taken for the very first time. It is a privilege that many pay entire fortunes for, the privilege to enjoy what is considered sacred. Omega brides are sought after, and especially male ones like Yuuri are what many men desire the most.

Victor is a man like many others. An alpha, too. But the mere thought of deliberately causing Yuuri pain disgusts him, and so he waits, patiently, until Yuuri is ready to take him in.

“Victor…” Yuuri breathes as the alpha’s finger go deeper, and Victor is pleased that he has managed to relax. He kisses him tenderly, letting Yuuri know that he is listening, that he will always listen, and never hurt him on purpose.

“Does it feel nice?” He whispers, and Yuuri nods softly.

“Y-Yes…” He sighs, his legs parting more almost immediately so that Victor can move between them. Victor pleasures him for a while, all while showering him in reassuring kisses as he feels the wetness between Yuuri’s legs grow. It becomes harder and harder to ignore his own desire, the urge to have Yuuri and making him his almost driving him insane. But Victor forces himself to be patient, for he knows there are many more times to come to sate his hunger.

Yuuri whines, and Victor curls his fingers just right to make the omega cry out in pleasure, his thighs snapping shut in the sudden wave of pleasure and trapping Victor’s hand where it is. Never has Victor seen such a sight before, of an omega beneath him with his face painted in sheer ecstasy. And then, all the tension falls from Yuuri as he relaxes again, his thighs releasing Victor’s hands from their grip as they fall open, leaving Yuuri breathing heavily before the alpha that could not be prouder of himself.

“Look at you,” Victor hums and kisses Yuuri on the lips. “My beautiful angel. My sun, my moon and my stars…”

Yuuri whines as Victor’s fingers leave him, but he will not be abandoned for long. Carefully, Victor settles between the omega’s thighs, making sure he holds him close as he finally pushes into him, and gives in to the desire that has tormented him since the day he has laid eyes on the omega so many days ago. Yuuri cries out in both pleasure and pain, pain that Victor cannot spare him but that will hopefully pass as soon as he is fully inside him. Only then, Victor stops and grabs Yuuri’s hand, intertwining their fingers so tightly that he cannot tell which are his own.

Yuuri’s eyes are closed, his lips parted, his entire body trembling in what Victor hopes is pleasure. He does not dare to move, no matter how much he wants to give in to the burning desire deep in his belly that demands of him to take the omega and satisfy his hunger. But Victor waits, one hand holding Yuuri’s, the other caressing his hipbone.

It takes him all of his strength to do so.

Slowly, Yuuri opens his eyes, looking up at Victor though his eyelashes. “Love me, Victor,” he whispers, bringing his free hand up to Victor’s cheek. “Love me with all your heart.”

Victor nods and kisses him, just as he begins to move.

Yuuri gasps as Victor thrusts into him, arching his back as the alpha drives into him again and again. Victor knows he should be more careful, that he should go slower, take care of Yuuri’s inexperience and guide him. Never before has he felt like this with another being, never has something as intimate as the mating act driven him so closely to the edge of insanity as it does now. It takes all of his strength alone to remain within his own head, to not lose himself to the pleasure that he feels as he becomes one with Yuuri.

There will never be anyone else again. Not his wife, not anyone.

There will only ever be Yuuri.

His Yuuri.

“Victor…” Yuuri breathes and wraps his arms around his neck, holding onto Victor for dear life as the alpha enjoys him, his legs coming around Victor’s waist, as if to urge him to go deeper. “Victor…”

There is something about the way that Yuuri says his name, the way he moans it, that makes Victor lose himself in the pleasure that their mating gives him, that it gives both of them, for Yuuri whines and moans and tightens around him over and over again. Victor knows that he won’t last long, for it has been far too long since he has last found release. “Y-Yuuri…” He breathes, picking up the pace of his thrusts one last time before he falls over the edge and spends himself inside Yuuri with a deep, satisfied groan, just as Yuuri cries out and follows him in his climax, and into peaceful bliss.

Neither of them say a word for a long time, simply holding each other and basking in the afterglow of their mating. It has been far too long, Victor thinks to himself, far too long since he has last done this. But never before has he slept with someone he actually loves. Someone like Yuuri.

His beautiful, breathtaking, extraordinary Yuuri.

Slowly, Victor pulls out of him, but that is the only thing he manages to do. He remains on top of Yuuri, careful not to crush him as he nuzzles his neck.

“How are you feeling?” He whispers, pressing small kisses to Yuuri’s collarbone.

Yuuri hums. “Lovely,” he replies quietly, his arms still around Victor’s neck, his hands playing with his hair. “I feel lovely.”

That alone takes a heavy weight off Victor’s chest, and he sighs in relief. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know,” Yuuri whispers, kissing his temple. “But sometimes, there has to be pain before there can be pleasure.”

Victor smiles at that and kisses him again, and again, and again, until they have lost themselves in each other’s embrace once more. They are exhausted, and covered in sweat and Yuuri’s thighs are smeared with blood, but neither of them care about that now. Victor knows at some point, he should get up, bring Yuuri at least something to wipe away the remains of his maidenhead, but he finds himself unable to. Never does he want to be parted from Yuuri again, not even for a second.

“Be my concubine, Yuuri,” he whispers between kisses. “Be the one that I love.”

Yuuri pulls away, just enough to look Victor in the eye. “You have my heart,” he says quietly, tracing Victor’s cheekbone with his fingertips. “And I have yours.”

More does Victor not need to know.

As they fall asleep, something deep inside Victor’s heart clicks into place. And he knows that Yuuri, his beloved concubine, can feel it, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!  
> Important: If you wish to read more of this universe, please subscribe to the SERIES (or to me), not to this fic! 
> 
> I hope you are fine in these truly difficult times. Stay safe, and above all, stay sane <3


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